The skinny Jesus guy on the bridge with the sandwich board and the tracts is a spy.

Good game today. Sort of quiet and subdued, but good.

If you are relying on me to tell you what happened, then God help you.

I will say that Beckett's first inning was deja-vu all over again, walking in a run just like Lester last night in Pawtucket. Unlike Lester, Beckett settled down. Thanks for that.

Before the game started, a little Jimmy Fund kid in a wheelchair was rolled out to sing the national anthem. I do not know about the other park attendees, but I had a hard time keeping my composure. The same could be said for Foulke, but he was fighting back laughter, not tears. I love Foulke, but damn, he is a grade-A redneck asshole.

Mark Loretta's at-bat song is "Lowrider". Get it? Mark... Low-retta? Low...rider? Lowrider did nothing offensively today, unlike my handsome new boyfriend Mike Lowell.

As for Pena... Trot woulda had it. Trot would have ripped his glove arm off and held it up with his other arm to catch it if he had to. I know you know that. Don't make excuses.

Afterwards, we went to Watch City Brewery in Waltham. Vee and I are calling for a moratorium on your stupid fucking Coach / LV / Kate Spade / Vera Whatserface pocketbooks. You really need to stop with that shit.

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